Live! From New York
by godblessthefandom
Summary: New York City is abuzz! The darling of Broadway, Santana Lopez, is set to meet the darling of Saturday Night, Brittany S. Pierce, on the one and only stage: Saturday Night Live. When sparks fly and they get closer, can they navigate their careers, personal lives, and the paparazzi to have a normal date? Brittana
1. Chapter 1

Welcome! This is a Glee fanfic starring Brittana, and most of the rest of the cast. I've dug deep to bring out my first Brittana fic of 2018. Hope you enjoy! Yes, Britt is Kate McKinnon, and Santana is Lin Manuel Miranda, and everybody else is everybody else. Kenan Thompson is always Kenan because he's going to be on SNL forever (don't fight me on this!). I'm planning on this to be one of the longer fics, but we'll see how often I update. Also! Leslie Jones is there because she's amazing.

* * *

Brittany raced down the hallway dodging interns, staffers, writers, and crew. She careened around a rack of costumes, and nearly ran head first into a llama, skidding around it at the last possible second, and grazing it's fur gently as she ran by.

"Brittany, they've started the goodnights!"

The voice boomed behind Brittany, and she felt it's insistence push her even faster down the hallway. It had been their director, Shannon Beiste, and her tone left no room for argument. She pumped her legs a bit harder, skirting around a desk and through a set of double doors. Arms waved her onwards, and she gracefully leaped onto the stage, wrapping her arms around Jane Hayward.

"You're late, Britt." Jane smirked, accepting Brittany's hug, and waving to the crowd.

"Yeah, well, I got a little caught up."

"Caught up with what? You were in the last sketch!"

"Yeah, and you saw the outfit they had me in, I had to change."

"Beiste is going to literally turn you into a scorch mark."

The crowd quieted and Melissa McCarthy waved once more for good measure.

"Thank you to the cast, the crew and Lorne Michaels! Have the great night!"

The music kicked in, and it made further conversation impossible without shouting directly into the person's ear. Brittany separated from Jane and walked to give Melissa a hug.

"You did awesome!"

"Thanks! And you in that nun sketch, oh my god. Goddamn, Britt, I almost laughed about six different times!"

Brittany smiled, and hugged a few more cast members before falling back towards the back of the stage. She was coming up on her fifth year as a featured player on Saturday Night Live, and honestly it was a dream come true. As a kid, she would videotape episodes of the show and watch them over and over. She'd imagine she was up onstage with greats like Amy Poehler, Mya Rudolph and Molly Shannon. And now she was here. On this stage, doing the goodnights. She had been on the cover of Vanity Fair, and Elle Magazine, and though she wasn't too excited about that side of things, she was happy that people found humor and laughter in her sketches. One fan favorite had spawned a whole slew of spin-off sketches, and even talk of her own TV show, but Brittany resisted that particular siren song. She loved being on SNL. It was her dream, and her life now, and she wouldn't trade it for the world. As the final strains of music faded, Brittany made her way towards the back of the stage, and out another door. She filed through some of the crowd that was meandering towards the exit, smiling and waving as she jogged, and through another door.

Lorne Michaels, their boss and the executive producer, had a lot of rules about what was allowed on the show. Everyone had to be at the host's dinner on Tuesday night. Nobody but Kenan got to skip out on the Friday morning early rehearsal. The first years always buy coffee on the first and last night's show of the season. And at the end of the show, every show, everybody is on the stage as the first strands of "Waltz in A" started and Leon's piano hit those notes, and stays until Lenny's alto sax high note shakes the stands. It was a tradition that Brittany believed began in the 70's. It was kind of a tribute to the audience in a way. It was the cast's job to make them laugh and bear the brunt of their judgement, and so they did. Then after the music was done, they all headed to the after party (even Kenan had to make an appearance), and as long as they shook the host's hand, they could leave whenever they wanted. But Brittany had a different type of tradition.

Ever since she was a little kid, and she'd spent Saturday nights sneaking into the living room, and quietly flipping on the TV to NBC, after the show was done, she'd go back to her room, and lie on the floor next to her window, looking up at the stars and thinking about all she'd seen. It was something she'd done even after she'd moved to Chicago to join Second City, and would have late night shows at her friend Holly's bar, 'Holliday's'. It was true after she'd moved to New York, and she'd spent nights waiting tables, and then that one overnight job at the morgue. Saturdays were hers. Just her, 30 Rock, and the stars.

And so she climbed up a set of steps and then another, reaching a landing that the techs used to move lights in and out easily. She pulled a key out of her pocket (a gift from their lead tech Kitty) and was out in the crisp January air, leaning back on the railing with a sigh. Of course, this was New York. A couple million lights would have to go out for her to see the moon, but this was as close to it as she could get, and she accepted it gladly, and settled on being grateful for the life she was living.

Other than Kitty, there wasn't anyone else who knew about her spot, and she'd rather it stayed that way. Though she had gotten some flak from her castmates when they asked about where she disappeared off to for half an hour. But in some small ways, it was just another in a long line of traditions. Lorne had them with his rules, Brittany had them, even Jane had some. She'd always text her mom right before she went onstage, and wait for the response. She'd gotten yelled at by Beiste about it once before, but everyone knew that Jane didn't touch the stage without the text from her mom. She claimed it was a calming thing, but they all knew the truth: She was afraid of bad luck.

Another castmate who came around the same time as her, Noah Puckerman, always touched the "Farley Was Here" sign right before dress rehearsal. Tina Cohen-Chang and Jane had an elaborate handshake that started exactly at 10:59:30 and ended at 10:59:59 Artie Abrams, the first disabled cast member in the show's history, had a little wheelchair dance that he did that included a set number of wheelies, spin outs, and hair pin turns. They all had their quirks, in a way. But Brittany kept her after show excursions a secret, still. Maybe not because she was afraid of ridicule, but perhaps because when she kept them to herself they stayed hers alone. She didn't have to share them with anyone else.

She had lost herself in her thoughts when a vibration from her pocket shook her into consciousness. It was Jane.

 _Hey, you still on your post show sabbatical? ;)_

Brittany smiled as she typed out a reply.

 _Not that it's any of your business, Hayward. Are things heating up?_

 _Yeah, and Lorne is pulling the old man routine. Better get down here before he's off to take his supplements and hit the hay._

 _You do realize that if he ever heard you say that, he'd fire you on the spot, right?_

There was a moment of ellipses appearing and disappearing before the phone vibrated again.

 _Is that a threat, Pierce?_

A moment later after a series of rather expressive emojis (one of which was an eggplant), Brittany smiled, slipped her phone back into her pocket and climbed back down from her hiding place. She was nearly to the party when she ran into Beiste again. It wasn't surprising. Beiste was probably one of the very few people in the cast and crew who was exempt from the after-party. She hated the chaos and the noise, and she'd been working on the show so long that Lorne didn't bother trying to convince her.

Brittany did her best not to meet Shannon's eye, but the other woman stopped short in her path.

"Pierce."

"Oh, hey, Shannon, how's it going?"

"You were late for the Goodnights, and now you're late for the after party. What do you think Lorne will have to say about this?"

"Uh, yeah, well-"

"Anyway, I won't rat you out, cause you had a terrific show tonight, and because I have some big news for you."

There was something nearly irresistible in Shannon's tone, and Brittany had to keep herself from hopping anxiously from foot to foot. Shannon was always the best source for news and gossip around the show, and even more than Lorne knew exactly who was sleeping with who, who was writing with who and who was planning an exit.

"Remember how Evangeline Lily was supposed to be hosting a couple of weeks from now?"

"Yeah."

"Well, she had to drop out cause of a scheduling conflict, and now Santana Lopez is in."

Brittany's eyes grew wide. "Santana Lopez? Are you serious?"

"Yep! Apparently she's always wanted to be on the show, and she knows somebody who knows Lorne, and the whole thing is happening pretty fast. I just found out about it this morning."

"So, like in a couple weeks?" The awe was still in Brittany's voice.

"Three to be exact. And I know that you have all the posters from her show in your dressing room, so that will give you plenty of time to make it look a little less like Kathy Bates from Misery."

Brittany wanted to think of a snappy comeback, but she was practically in the middle of a serious freak out. Santana Lopez, the darling of Broadway, winner of Tonys, Emmys and and Oscar, the woman who'd performed for President Obama at the White House was coming to their show, and would be mere feet from her at any given time. She tried swallowing a couple times, but there was a lump the size of Nebraska in her throat.

After a few moments, Shannon's grin became even wider, and she patted Brittany on the back a few times. "I'm really glad I told you now, so you can get this out of your system before anybody sees you. Catch you later, Pierce."

With that, she turned away, whistling a happy tune before heading out the double doors that lead to the elevators. Brittany's head seemed to stop swimming, and she turned, racing down the hall at a breakneck speed.

The after party normally started in the big rehearsal space in the studio, before someone got the grand idea (usually around 3AM) to head to a bar downtown somewhere. The place was usually set up with some tables, and music, and it felt a bit more like a high school dance, than a big time after party. Even so, none of the cast minded much, because it was their place to finally unwind after the show, and stress out about the sketches that didn't go to plan, and celebrate the ones that went over really well.

Brittany came around the corner, almost running headfirst into Kenan on his way out, and with a nod, slowed her run to a jog, spotting Jane and making a beeline towards her.

"Jane, Jane! Hey, sorry."

She nodded to Katie, the makeup artist, and pulled Jane away.

"Britt, what the hell-?"

"I just found out that Santana Lopez is going to be hosting the show at the beginning of February?!"

Jane took a moment to absorb that information. "Santana Lopez? The one from that Billie Holiday show? The one you've been trying to get tickets to for weeks?"

"Yes!"

Jane thought for another moment." What are you going to do with all of your posters? You have like a million of them. She's going to think you're a stalker, Britt."

There was a note of pity in Jane's voice, but Brittany ignored it. "You don't get it Jane, we'll have her here, up close and personal. I mean, she's so awesome. I can't wait!"

"Yeah, you've just got to make sure that you act like a normal human instead of a fangirl."

"When have you ever seen me fangirl?" Brittany said, incredulously.

"How about when Hillary Clinton came by? What about the episode with Charlize Theron?"

"I mean, yeah, but they're like my heroes-"

"And as far as I know you don't own a single Hillary Clinton poster-"

"Not the point, Jane. Look, can you just be happy that we're going to have some fun, please?"

"She's going to be great, I can tell. We've gotta get her to do a song or something."

"Now you're talking!"

"Oh, let's go find a writer and talk about some sketch ideas."

Brittany pumped her fist. "I think I saw Sarah back there somewhere, let's do it."

With that, she reached for Jane's arm and headed back into the crowd.

\

"Saturday Night Live?!"

Santana was doing her best to focus on her vocal warm-ups, but Sugar's voice was quite possibly too loud for human beings to ignore, so she set down her sheet music, and gave the other woman her undivided attention.

"Yes. Saturday Night Live. What's the problem, Sugar?"

"What do you mean, what's the problem? You are the star of this show, Santana. You. People come here to see Billie, music and lyrics by Santana Lopez, _starring_ Santana Lopez. As long as you're doing this show, as long as you've got the billing, when they buy the tickets, they come to see you."

"Yeah, and that's what we have an understudy for."

"An understudy is something-" Sugar looked around suspiciously. " _Bad_ happens. Not because you get bored, and want to do something else."

Santana pinched the bridge of her nose. "It's not about 'wanting to do something else', Sugar! I've dreamed about being on SNL since I was a kid! I've always wanted to host, and now I'm getting my chance. I can't turn this down!"

Santana watched the calculations Sugar was going through in her head.

"Maybe we can push it back a few weeks, you know? Something in March shouldn't hit us too badly. Though, I guess Spring Break might be a bad time. Hmmm, what about April?"

"They need me in February, Sugar."

"I know, I know, but maybe we can work with them a little to a time when it won't be quite as busy?"

"If we wait on a time when it's not quite so busy, I won't be hosting until 2025."

"You wish your show would have that longevity."

"I'm pretty sure that's specifically your wish. I think you might have even sent me a text that mentions the year 2025."

"We can't really help it that you've written a show that's sold out every night."

Santana grabbed her sheet music, and went towards the door. "You're the producer, Sug, I'm sure you'll come up with something spectacular. Now, I need to go run through some lines with Mercedes, ciao."

Santana was out the door in a flash, and could hear Sugar sputtering behind her, but didn't turn around. As much as she hated putting Sugar in a bind, she was the star of this show, and she figured it was time to start enjoying things. _Billie_ was her baby. Conceived out of a biography of the singer she'd read on vacation with her ex-girlfriend, she'd written the entire thing in about a month, rarely sleeping, and living with one of her best friend's and her friend's twin brother.

The premise was simple, documenting the life and legacy of one of the most important people in modern music, and it had definitely been a labor of love. When it was all done, Santana was more than satisfied with the result, but she couldn't have predicted the groundswell of adoration the public would send her way. It had been on Broadway for a little over six months, and was already outselling her previous musical by a mile. She was proud, and she was happy, but she was exhausted. Then she'd overheard one of their wealthier beneficiaries talking about her dinner with Lorne Michaels, and connections were made. She couldn't think of a moment she'd been happier since the night her show premiered, and even having to deal with Sugar was worth all of the trouble. Though, she knew that Sugar wouldn't go quietly, and this certainly wouldn't be the last time that they had the conversation. But, it was only a week (technically, they would start on Tuesday), and she was sure that the production could continue without her. Bree, her understudy, was practically chomping at the bit to get more time onstage, and the production was basically a fine tuned machine. Honestly, if they couldn't survive a week without her, what were they even doing there?

With all of her silent commiserations agreeing with herself, there was still one person that she needed to tell that she dreaded. No, it wasn't Emma Pillsbury, their producer who, if she had things her way, would have had them scheduling bathroom breaks. It wasn't her co-star Mercedes Jones, or the bane of her existence (but not-so-terrible scene partner) Rachel Berry. No, the person who she would have the most problem telling was her partner in crime, the person who'd helped turn _Billie_ from a mass of ideas and songs into an actual musical: Quinn Fabray. Quinn and Santana had known each other for years, but Quinn had been in the business back when Santana was still pounding out chords on the upright piano in her mom's basement. She was no nonsense, but she had an ear for a good song, and would often remind Santana of that fact. She had started working on _Billie_ almost at the beginning and had had the insight to encourage Santana to keep working on it, even when she herself could barely see the end of the rainbow.

So, a lot of the success belonged to Quinn, though Santana would never admit it, and it was also thanks to Quinn in no small part, as the musical director and arranger, that the show went off every night without a hitch. She was a woman who liked when things went according to plan. And despised it when they didn't. It was possible that she would take this news with grace and aplomb, but Santana had her doubts.

She did actually make her way to Mercedes' dressing room, and found the other woman perched on a stool in front of her mirror, in the midst of her vocal warm-ups. Mercedes played the role of Ella Fitzgerald, and the musical showcased their relationship from bitter rivals, to one of mutual respect. Of course, it wasn't all sunshine and buttercups. Billie Holiday died at the age of 44 because of a mixture of drug and alcohol abuse, but the story resonated with audiences so much because of how relatable Santana had been able to make Billie's story. Playing opposite Mercedes every night, a dynamite performer who Santana had known since almost her first day arriving in New York, had made them closer, and given them both a new respect for one another.

Santana sat on the couch in Mercedes' dressing room, watching her hit a series of impossible notes, and couldn't help the grin that spread across her face.

"What?" asked Mercedes, returned a grin of her own.

"Oh, nothing, just sitting here hella impressed as usual."

"Uh huh." Mercedes said, her grin growing mischievous. "I guess that Sugar chased you out of your own dressing room again."

"Ding ding ding, circle gets the square."

"I don't know why you let her bully you like that. Do you think she'll let you do SNL?"

"Let?" Santana scoffed. "This is my show, okay? I do what I want, when I want. So far, and since long before we even opened, mind you, I've been working my ass off making this perfect, and I really think I deserve a break."

"Is that how you presented it to Sugar?"

"Not exactly."

"Then how, exactly?"

"I'd rather not get into it, but all is good on that front."

"And Quinn?"

"Oh look, another thing I'd rather not get into."

Mercedes got up from her stool, and joined Santana on the couch. "You're going to have to tell her. And soon, San."

"What? It's not like I'm afraid of her or anything. And Sugar is the one who's making money at this hand over fist, so if anybody has a big stake in it, it's her."

"Yeah, but she's going to have to be the one that puts Bree through all her paces, and gets her in that sweet spot."

"And? Emma is the one directing Bree."

"Then what's the big deal about telling Quinn?"

"Cause she's going to make it this big deal! Like, I'm getting tired of the show, like I'm not doing what I need to do, blah blah blah, every day. She did it when we were sharing a place in Queens, and she'll do it again."

Mercedes only shrugged and pulled herself up from the couch, reaching for her music. "Look, it's up to you, but I think you should tell her sooner rather than later."

Santana was about to respond, but the nearby door stood open, and a loud voice came in from the hallway.

"Tell who, what?"

Rachel sauntered in without so much as a knock and placed herself delicately on the couch as well. Santana rolled her eyes, and marched towards the door, looking around outside before pulling the door closed with a firm thud.

"Santana has to tell Quinn that she's going to be on SNL in three weeks."

"Oh, Quinn is not going to like that. When are you going to be there? I want to make sure I get to see the resulting implosion."

Santana narrowed her eyes at Rachel, and ignored the comment. "You are literally the loudest person in existence, Berry, and yet you still manage to sneak around like a ninja. Haven't you heard of not listening to people's conversations? Or knocking, perhaps?"

Rachel raised an eyebrow. "Well, yeah, but I just happened to be walking by and I heard you guys and I wanted to know what my two favorite co-stars were up to."

"You're not a co-star, Rachel, you have third billing."

Rachel's megawatt smile didn't slip for a moment as she recovered. "Tomato, tomah-to. I'm just glad we all get to hang out here together."

"Oh, hush, Santana, she can hang out here if she wants to."

"Well, I'll take that as my cue." Santana said, opening the door to the hallway again. "I think Emma wants us out there a little early, so be there or be square, nerds."

"Just make sure you tell Quinn, Santana!" Rachel shouted as Santana closed the door again behind her violently, but jumped when another voice purred behind her.

"Tell Quinn what?"

Santana didn't need to turn around to know who was standing suspiciously close to her back.

"Dammit, Rachel." She cursed under her breath. Turning around, she put on one of her warmest smiles. "Quinn! Hey, how's it going?"

"We had brunch this morning, Santana, why are you being weird?"

"Nothing, nothing, just glad to see you is all. I think Emma wants us on stage in a bit, we should go get down there. Like a pep talk or something, I'm not sure-"

"You certainly are being weird. And what was Rachel on about?"

"I dunno, Quinn, you know Rachel. Half the time I'm not even sure-"

"Is it about how you want to take a week off and go do Saturday Night Live?"

Santana made a face. "You knew this whole time?!" She yelled, raining down light blows onto Quinn's shoulders.

Quinn couldn't help her small smile, and shielded herself. "Well, yeah, it's kind of my job to know things."

"You mean you make it your job to know things."

"Yeah, that too."

"So, I guess you're going to try to talk me out of it?"

Quinn sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Why would I do that, Santana. I know how much you're looking forward to this. And anyway, I'm not your boss. If I wanted you to not do something, I'd just tell Emma who would then make you not do it."

Santana groaned.

"But… I didn't do that. I have no interest in keeping you from what you want to do. But remember, we're in this together. This is your show, but a lot of people have a lot riding on this."

"You don't have to remind me."

"I know." Quinn took Santana's arm, and lead her down the hallway towards the stage. "I just want to make sure that you're head is in the game. There's a focus that's required, and if you remember from your last show."

"Oh no." Santana interrupted, pulling her arm from Quinn's. "You said you were going to stop bringing that up-"

"I just mean that it's not just you in all this, Santana. We're a team."

"Do you think I don't know that?"

Santana was surprised to see that Quinn looked abashed. "I know you do."

"Okay, well, then, we'll just leave it at that. Maybe you could be happy for me?" Santana's tone was still terse, but she turned her frown into a smile.

"Of course, Santana, I'm happy for you. Just don't forget where your loyalties lie."

"I haven't."

"Good. Let's get to work then."


	2. Chapter 2

Santana had been to 30 Rockefeller Plaza three times in her life. The first was when she first got to New York, and she and some of her friend's had stumbled across the crazy idea that they wanted to go ice skating during Christmas. Santana hadn't really known how to ice skate, but she'd given it a try, and broken her wrist. The second time was three years later when her parents visited from California, and insisted on going for the tour of NBC studios. They were obsessed with Kathie Lee and Hoda on the morning show, and it didn't matter how much Santana protested, they were going, so she tagged along. She'd resisted the siren song of network TV for as long as she could, but once the NBC page pointed out the wall of signed photos from former hosts of SNL, they had her. She spent nearly $300 in the gift shop on swag, and yes, Mercedes had laughed at her for her lack of willpower, but it'd had been well worth it. She'd considered for a moment wearing her SNL t-shirt, but after about thirty seconds of wandering around her apartment, she figured that maybe that was coming on too strong.

The host dinner on Tuesday night was a tradition. Santana didn't need to be told that. It was her first chance to make a big impression on the cast, writers and some of the crew, many she'd only seen on TV, and it was pretty important. Rachel had given her a long list of places that would impress even the snobbiest of connoisseurs, and for once, Santana was glad to have a friend who's insane dietary demands kept her on the cutting edge of the trendy eateries in New York. Rachel and Mercedes sat in her dressing room, Michelin Eating Guides open and surrounding them, both shouting out suggestions as best they could, but Santana had yet to hear one that just sounded right.

"Oooh, how about Le Papillion?"

"Rachel, I'm trying to blow them away, not put them to sleep. That restaurant looks like the kind of place you'd take your mistress so you could avoid running into your side chick."

Rachel took the comment in stride, thumbing through a few more pages. "The Grange? It's got this lovely hunter's lodge motif. I don't find it personally enjoyable, but the cast might."

Santana grunted noncommittally and hit a few mindless notes on the piano she kept in the corner.

"Okay, how about the new Japanese restaurant by that celebrity chef? I heard that they flip the sushi to your table from across the room!" Mercedes said excitedly waving a glossy magazine high above her head.

Santana hit a few more notes, and suddenly closed the piano with a sharp snap.

She pointed to Rachel and Mercedes in turn. "I don't want gimmicks. I don't want tricks. I just want a place that will dazzle and inspire them!"

She stomped over to the couch and sat down in a huff, crossing her arms.

"Um, so…" Mercedes said, setting her magazine down and sitting forward to pat Santana on the leg. "I'm going to ignore that little outburst because you're my girl, and I love you, but if you snap at me like that again, I'm gonna yank out your weave, and sell it on Ebay."

There was a lightness in her voice, but Santana knew that she wasn't far from the truth, so she grimaced and nodded, rolling her eyes for effect.

"Fine, 'Cedes, but something has got to be perfect. If I can't find it, I will never make this right."

There was a whine in her own voice that Santana didn't like, but she couldn't help it. This was a big deal. This was a first impression, and in a lot of ways, it could be the first step on her path of Saturday Night Live fame. She didn't want to want it as much as she did, but she did. She cleared her throat in an attempt to wipe the desperation away.

"I don't know why you're all worked up about this anyway, Santana." Rachel said behind the latest copy of Fine Eats magazine. "It's just a performance. You do it every night of the week and twice on Sundays. This is old hat stuff."

"Yeah, but if she screws up it's not just to the crowd of one theater." Mercedes broke in from behind her own dining magazine. "It's in front of hundreds of thousands. Or at least whatever is normal for a Saturday night, I dunno. Could be millions."

Santana laid across the couched, nearly knocking the magazine out of Rachel's hands.

Rachel raised it above her head with a sigh. "Even then, it's not even prime time! I sang backup for Sia last year at New Year's and there were probably more people in Times Square alone than-"

"What's this?" Santana exclaimed, rolling off the couch, and grabbing a magazine from the stack on the floor near the couch.

"What's what?" Mercedes and Rachel said, nearly in unison.

Santana pointed at photo in the magazine, tapping the magazine emphatically. "Blaine Anderson!"

Mercedes was by her side in an instant, and nearly grabbed the article from her hands. "No fricking way. Are you serious? Blaine Anderson? The guy from Newberry Park?!"

"It's gotta be. I remember that dumbass cowlick from anywhere."

"Perhaps you'd like to clue me in, ladies." Rachel sighed, folding her magazine primly in her lap.

"Oh yeah, Berry, I forgot that it was only recently that you started stalking us." Santana quipped.

"I know that you're joking, Santana, but I think everyone in the company agreed that you're 'joke restraining order' was beyond the pale."

"He ran this food cart in Newberry park, in our old neighborhood in Queens. He had a bunch of Filipino food, and it was pretty much the most delicious thing we'd ever eaten in our whole lives. We basically went there every day for three years, and then one day he said he was shutting down, and was going to open a brick and mortar place. We told him we'd be first in line, and gave him our contact info, but we hadn't heard anything since."

"Maybe that was **your** favorite place to eat, Mercedes, but I like to think that I had a bit more class than some fly by night operation."

"Oh, well, I guess all the times that you texted me desperately at midnight asking me to bring you some adobo chicken on my way home from work were hallucinations." Mercedes shot back.

Santana buried her nose behind the glossy print, and wouldn't meet Mercedes' eye. "Yeah, well, whatever. It turns out he made it big, and now his place is one of the up and comers in Manhattan."

"Well, good for him! I'm so proud. We should definitely make a reservation."

Rachel stooped behind Santana and took a look at the magazine herself. "Filipino-American chef Blaine Anderson opens up _Hapa_ an American/Filipino fusion restaurant that mixes both of Anderson's heritages into one amazing dining experience. Good luck with that reservation, ladies, it says here that they're booked out for the next six months."

"Maybe for a peon such as yourself." Santana snatched the paper away, and tugged on the page, tearing it out. "But we were there at the beginning, and I'm sure there's no way he can refuse one of his original supporters a seat."

Mercedes did some quick math. "It's not just one seat, San, you're taking the whole cast of SNL, probably plus some of the writers. That's like 20 people."

"Sure, I'm not saying that it's going to be easy, but you're talking to Santana Lopez. Writer and star of the most sought after ticket on Broadway. I'll offer him a few balcony seats to _Billie!_ and he'll be sold."

"I'm not sure if it's going to be that easy, Santana."

"Well, luckily Rachel, no one asked you."

"Santana, she's right." Mercedes said. "And, if you remember correctly, it's not like you and Blaine Anderson had the most cozy relationship."

Santana smiled slyly. "And that's why I'm not going to ask him. I'm going to ask the co-star of the most sought after ticket on Broadway. The woman behind the throne. One of the most talented, kind, and not to mention beautiful women that I know."

Mercedes opened her mouth to reply, but Rachel interrupted her.

"Why Santana, that was the nicest thing you've ever said to me!" She swooned.

Both Santana and Mercedes gave her a glare, but moved on with the conversation.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Lopez."

"Aw, c'mon, 'Cedes. You know how much this means to me. Having it at this place, this great, cosmopolitan establishment, on the rise, with amazing food… It's a can't miss! It would mean the world to me."

"I don't know, Santana…"

"And I would owe you one."

A devious smile crept over Mercedes' features, and Santana's eyes grew wide. She was beginning to regret her decision, but Mercedes was already accepting, her hand out to accept Santana's.

"Deal. I'll get you and the cast into Blaine Anderson's restaurant in a couple weeks, and you'll officially owe me one."

There was something about her tone that Santana didn't like, but she was desperate. What she had said to Mercedes and Rachel was real. There was something in her that needed to make a good impression, and she wasn't sure why, but she'd do anything to achieve her goal.

She swallowed audibly, but took Mercedes' hand regardless. "Fine. Deal."

Mercedes held her hand a bit tighter. "But you have to convince Emma to give up the tickets."

Santana looked like she wanted to resist, but a thousand scenarios ran through her head and there wasn't a single one where she figured she could refuse this request.

"Deal." She said, defeated

Mercedes nodded with a satisfied smile, and finally released Santana's hand. She stooped down and started gathering the magazines off the floor.

"Ooh, I can't wait. I'm already thinking of what you can do."

Santana bent over to help. "Yeah, whatever. You just focus on getting me in that restaurant and the rest will fall into place."

Rachel had placed herself delicately back on the couch, and was fanning through a _Vanity Fair_.

"You do realize she's probably just going to get you to watch the kids so she and the Mrs. can have a date night, right?"

Santana scoffed and watched Mercedes carefully. "Yeah, she knows that I would do that for free. I can already see that she's got something more devious in mind. Deny it, Mercedes. I dare you."

Mercedes laughed lightly, and placed her stack of magazines on the coffee table. The laugh took on an edge of the maniacal as she didn't say a word, but just walked out of the room.

\

Leslie Jones and Artie Abrams both watched Brittany with a strange fascination. They talked, but didn't bother directing any of their comments toward Brittany, who had been muttering to herself for the better part of an hour, and had been standing in the middle of her dressing room with a signed copy of the _Billie!_ playbill for the better part of fifteen.

They watched her mutter for a few moments more and suddenly Leslie stood up from the couch.

"Girl, just leave it! Damn. I swear you've spent more time doing this than writing any sketch I have ever seen you in."

Artie waved his hands in solidarity. "Les, she can't hear you, girl. She's in La La Land."

"Well, she better get her ass out of La La Land, because we're supposed to be writing something to take to pitch tomorrow, and I can't even think with her running around like this!"

The weeks before Santana Lopez's arrival had slowly whittled down to days, and now they were only a mere 72 hours away from her arrival at Studio 8H. While not everyone in the cast knew (or cared too much) about Brittany's fascination with Santana Lopez, they had all found a bit of humor in her worsening condition. It was like watching someone very, very slowly sink into quicksand that they only notice after the fourth or fifth day.

"What do you think she's going to do with it in the end?" Artie asked, with a kind of quiet wonder.

"I dunno. She'll probably try and eat it or something." Leslie cupped her hands around her mouth. "She's not going to care if you have a totally normal thing in your dressing room, Britt. Honestly, she's probably not even going to come in here."

That last sentence was directed towards Artie, but Brittany's eyes snapped to Leslie. "You don't think so? I mean, I wasn't thinking that it would be a part of a tour or anything, but I'd really hoped that she'd stop by. I could show her my table, and my computer and stuff."

"Britt. Girl." Leslie deadpanned. "Santana Lopez, is like on a whole other level right now. She's won like a million awards, and was friends with President Obama. She's on a whole other level of cool, my dude."

Brittany tried not to let her face fall too much, but she couldn't help but be disappointed. "Yeah, no, you're right. What was I thinking?"

She placed the framed Playbill on her desk with a soft slap. Artie pushed his wheelchair closer, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Nah, Britt, it's not like that. I'm sure she'll come by."

"Yeah, Brittany, she's a star, but she seems like a really down to Earth person, I'm sure it'll be fine." Leslie chimed in, quick to reassure her.

Brittany took a deep sigh, and dramatically slithered to the floor, her body in fluid motion, floating to the ground. Artie had to admit that he was always impressed with her control and grace. Even falling to the floor, she looked like a dancer.

One thing he did know from being her friend for just under a decade was how resilient she was. He leaned over and patted Brittany on the leg.

"It's cool, Britt, don't worry. How about we head over to Jane's office, and see if we can't make some comedy magic?"

Leslie and Brittany both looked up at him quizzickly.

"What?" He continued, puzzled. "I thought it would better than just saying, 'Write some sketches.'"

"Yeah." said Leslie, taking a large step over Brittany, and reaching out a hand. "You should probably stick to jokes, funny man. C'mon, Britt, let's get out of here before we catch any of his bad jokes."

Brittany took Leslie's hand, but lingered a moment as she and Artie argued a bit as they moved down the hall. She would be the first to admit that she sometimes got caught up in her emotions, and maybe tended to exaggerate more often than not.

Maybe.

But, she was a performer, and she was a bit of a cut up, and it seemed sometimes that the only way that she could express herself was in a funny character, or voice or bit. She was like the world's most outgoing introvert. But, at the end of the day, she really did want Santana Lopez to notice her. What came after that, she really had no idea. She stifled a heavy sigh that was escaping from her lips and took a right instead of the left, turning off into a less populated corner of 30 Rock.

It was nearly midnight, and the building was quiet, but that was par for the course. Most of the "late night" shows filmed at six in the afternoon, so around this time, it was usually only SNL writers left. They were still early in the week, so the crunch wasn't on, but it wouldn't hurt to hammer out a few sketch ideas before heading in for the night. Still, it was pretty early for the SNL folks, most didn't get their motors really running until 10:30, and it seemed like a waste to stop working then.

Brittany snapped back into focus and looked around. Her feet had taken her almost all the way to her after-show-secret-hideout, but she frowned to herself. She hadn't meant to come this way at all. How out of order did her brain have to be to bring her this way? She rocked quickly back and forth on the balls of her feet and thought for a moment. It was just a show, right? Just a show like any other? Then why was she so nervous? Why was she so worried? Why was she acting so weird? She frowned again to herself.

"A lot on your mind?"

The voice behind her nearly made her yelp, but she contained herself, and spun quickly to face it.

Sam Evans had been on the show for less than a year, but he was currently the resident heartthrob, and his abs brought a certain _quality_ to the shirtless scenes, so Lorne was sure to make good use of them. Brittany wasn't quite sure how she felt about him yet. He had to tendency to make sketches all about him, and was hired after his successful YouTube channel had several viral videos. He wasn't a stand up comic, and hadn't been to Second City, so he was a new beast entirely.

Brittany eyed him up and down. "Nothing to concern yourself with, Sam. Shouldn't you be out vlogging or something?"

She kept her voice light, but there was a bite. She didn't have anything against the guy, but it didn't hurt to remind him who had seniority.

"Nah, I'm just working on some killer stuff for this week. Lorne couldn't get enough of my stoner surfer guy on Update a few weeks ago, so I'm thinking of bringing that back."

"Yeah, might want to watch out for that, don't want it getting stale."

A look of uncertainty crossed over Sam's face before he spoke up again. "You don't think it's weird you're wandering around on this side of the studio late at night? Not worried about ghosts?"

The last part of his statement came with the hint of a sneer, and Brittany had to keep herself from smiling. She and Artie had spent the better part of a month convincing Sam and Ego Nwadim (the two first years) that the studio was haunted. Ego had been humoring them (nothing wrong with a little hazing to promote team building), but it seemed to Brittany that Sam had actually believed her, and still refused to go in the third floor men's bathroom alone.

"Whatever, Britt." Sam said. The uncertainty had slipped away, and the cocky grin returned. "Hey, did you hear? Santana Lopez has sent out invitations for the Host Dinner. I just got mine a few minutes ago."

He reached into his jacket, pulling out a gorgeous egg shell envelope. He waved it in front of Brittany and with a flash, she had snatched it out of his hands, and was pulling it open.

"Hey! That's mine."

She batted his hand away, and pulled the envelope open, removing a document that Brittany could only describe as 'wedding Invitation fancy'.

"Holy hell. This is amazing." She breathed, gazing down at the paper.

 _You Are Cordially Invited To Join Santana Lopez for the Inaugural Host's Dinner_

 _For Episode 848 of Saturday Night Live_

 _Reservation at 6PM at Hapa_

 _72nd and Columbus Ave._

 _Be there or be square!_

Brittany clasped the note to her chest. "Oh my god."

Sam's eyes widened a little. "What's wrong?"

Brittany sighed a little and smiled tightly. "She's such a freaking dork!"

With that she raced down the hall, back towards the writer's offices, doing a joyful leap every so often.

Sam watched her leave curiously. "But that was my invitation."


	3. Chapter 3

'You're such a dork, Lopez' Santana thought to herself, pushing herself to maintain her pace on the elliptical machine.

She had been working out for nearly an hour, but had yet to really get going. Cardio was pretty important for stage performances, and so Emma made sure that they had at least two hours for that a day. Santana liked working out anyway, so it wasn't a problem, her colleagues however, tended to chafe at the directive a bit more.

For example, Mercedes was on a treadmill next to her, going at nearly the minimum speed, reading a script that someone had sent her. She tended to think that she did most of her exercising on stage, and didn't really need to work beyond that. Mike Chang, one of the lead male characters, and head of the ensemble dancers, felt he'd done enough, and was lounging on a weight bench nearby, flipping through the channels on the TV. Rachel had declined to join them, she usually chose to work out in her own personal gym because of her "particular sensitivities to unpleasant odors'. Normally Santana would have argued, but it meant not having Rachel around for a few hours, so she was all for it.

Today, she was going at full tilt, desperate to do something with her mind and body that didn't include worrying about hosting Saturday Night Live, and that day was fast approaching. Her agent had spent the better part of the last weekend (on Emma's direction) making sure that this engagement would in no way affect her Broadway performance, and then convincing Emma (on Santana's direction) to give her an entire week off from the show. This had been less successful, and Santana was looking at five full days off (her longest vacation in a while) that would take her from the end of the Wednesday matinee until Sunday, and then Monday she'd always had off.

And she would need it. The day of the host dinner had finally arrived, and she only had one more show, and then it was on to Saturday Night Live glory. In only a few short hours, she would be wining and dining with the cast that made her laugh every Saturday. She felt like she might vibrate right out of her skin, she was so excited, but she obviously couldn't tell anybody that. She was Santana Lopez after all.

"All you've gotta do is play it cool. Don't think about how this is all you've wanted since you were 16. _They_ should be happy to meet _you_! You're Santana Lopez, Star of stage and the small screen. They're going to be be eating out of your hand."

Santana had been talking under her breath, but she heard a chuckle beside her.

"Giving yourself one of your patented Santana Lopez pep talks, huh? I remember that from opening night of _West Side_. I thought you were going to pass out."

Santana laughed in spite of herself. Her very first show (one that Mercedes had worked on as well), was a roller coaster ride from funding to production. It was then that she found out how invaluable her working relationship with Quinn was, and how amazing a person like Emma could be when it came to keeping the trains running on time. As much as she bristled against the constant pull from the two of them, she had nothing but respect for their insights.

"Yeah, well, there's nothing nearly that serious going on. That night was the start of my entire Broadway career. This is just another day."

"Oh, you can fool everybody else, San, but you can't fool me. I've known you too long for that."

"Yeah, well, I mean, I guess I'm a little excited. Don't get me wrong, I'm not going to lose it or anything, but yeah, I mean, it'll be pretty cool."

Mercedes laughed again. "Fine, I think that might be all I'm going to get from you." She turned off the treadmill, folding up her magazine, and tucking it into her gym bag. "Well, I'm going to go get freshened up for the show, I'll see you later?"

Santana nodded quickly, jumping down from her own machine. "I think I'll head out too. There's something about being the last in the gym that just makes it super creepy. I'd rather be in the theater all alone than here."

"Well, that's no surprise, you love that drafty old building, even though I'm always telling you that it's awful."

"Hey, the Edgar has _personality_! You don't get that in a lot of the new places. Too slick."

"Less ghosts, you mean."

Mercedes dodged Santana's swat, laughing.

"Don't even joke about that, Mercedes! We do not need some vengeful spirit getting us into trouble. Especially when I'm about to start getting ready for SNL this week."

Santana had just dropped her water bottle into her bag when the door to the gym slammed shut, startling her. She looked up and saw Rachel sprinting towards them.

"And just like that, the bad luck has started."

Rachel gave Santana a look, but couldn't wipe the worry from her brow. She held up her phone insistently.

"You don't know how right you are, Santana. Look at this! As soon as I saw it, I had to get down here right away. I know how terrible the reception is, and I couldn't risk a text."

Santana peered closely, taking the phone from Rachel's hands. "Berry, you're freaking me out, okay? What the hell- Holy shit."

Mercedes walked closer to them, while Santana stared at the phone screen intently.

Rachel could barely contain herself. "It's _Hapa_. Blaine Anderson's place? Apparently, last night it got shut down for a health code violation, and it's expected to be closed until the end of the month!"

"Oh no, no, no, no." Santana moaned, running her fingers through her hair in frustration. "This can't be happening, this can't be!"

"Well, maybe there's something else to be done. Just go with your back up place." Mercedes said, patting Santana gently on the shoulder.

Santana's eyes went wide. "Back up place? I don't have back up place."

"Are you seriously telling me that as important as this whole thing is to you, you didn't bother coming up with a Plan B?" Rachel asked.

"No, troll, I didn't, and now isn't really the time to rub it in my face." Santana snapped.

"I get it Santana, but that _was_ kind of a bad idea on your part." Mercedes added. She rolled her eyes at Santana's glare, and continued. "But, at this point, what can you do? So, what's the plan?"

"I don't know, 'Cedes. There's no way I'll be able to get a reservation for like twenty five people at this point in the city at any kind of restaurant that actually is not terrible."

Santana sank to the floor. "I think I'm going to throw up."

"Okay, San, just breathe, just breathe. Put your head between your legs." Rachel cooed, rubbing Santana's back gently.

"What the hell am I going to do? This whole thing is ruined." Santana could feel her voice hitch, but the feeling of helplessness was so deep in her chest, she couldn't help it. She could feel the tears welling up behind her eyes, and a few dropped from her lashes before she could stop them.

There was a moment of hopeless desperation in the air, but after a moment, Mercedes spoke up excitedly.

"We don't need a restaurant! We have a place that we can use."

"What do you mean?" Santana sniffled.

"Remember I was telling you about the producer that I'm working with on my new album? Sugar Motta, you've heard of her, right?"

"Yeah, a little, Mercedes, but I hardly think this is the time to be name dropping-"

"No, no, Santana, she's got this gorgeous place on the Upper West Side, and she says she never uses it, and it's HUGE, and she said if I ever wanted to hang out there, or have friends over, just give her a call! And you should see it Santana, it's like something out of MTV Cribs. It's got this incredible foyer, and like a huge fish tank, and an amazing kitchen, and dining room, and even a room for karaoke!"

"Wait, I don't get it-"

"What Mercedes is saying is that you can hold the dinner there, Santana."

Santana brightened for a moment, but then faded again. "That's a great idea, but I don't have any food. What am I supposed to feed them? Take out?"

Rachel thought for a moment. "Well, unfortunately, I don't think I can miss this afternoon's show, otherwise I would treat you to one of my famous vegan masterpieces-"

"Pass."

"Buuut, I happen to know a couple of people in the crew that can help you."

"The Shining Twins?"

"Be nice, Santana."

Madison and Mason were twins, and though they were always cheery and upbeat, there was definitely something a little unsettling about them, especially when they were finishing each other's sentences. Mason was an understudy for one of the ensemble parts, and could sing and dance well enough. Meanwhile, when he wasn't waiting in the wings, he was helping out Madison who was asn assistant to the lead tech on the production. It was a role with a little more respectability, and Madison seemed to thrive on the tiny bit of seniority that it gave her over her twin.

Luckily for Santana, she was just out of their earshot when she voiced her insult, and tried to put on her best smile as she approached.

"Just hear me out, Santana." Rachel said, pulling her closer. Santana nodded and Rachel continued, gesturing towards both of the twins in turn.

"I was just talking to Madison and Mason the other day, and they explained that when they first finished high school, they had been exploring their love of fine dining. And that took them to South America for two years learning all about Chilean cuisine."

Santana perked up. "Really?"

Madison nodded. "Yep, our mom is from Chile, and she taught us everything she knew. We don't cook that much anymore, but we like to throw dinner parties from time to time, and we get rave reviews."

"See? You could have them do the cooking, and it'll be just like a restaurant. I already messaged them, and they said they'd be happy to do it, but they just have a few requests."

Santana raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"Well," Mason began. "I want to have at least ten shows in the next two months where I get to perform. Our parents are coming from back home, and I want them to see me actually singing and stuff."

"And what else?"

"Speaking of parents, we're going to need some tickets, four total, but for whatever shows we want." Madison added.

"Is that it?" Santana said suspiciously.

"And one more thing." Madison said sheepishly. "There's this creepy tech who keeps cornering me, and asking to sniff my hair. I want him on a different schedule or something."

Santana cocked her head. "That one doesn't even need to be a request, consider it done."

"What do you say?" Rachel asked. "I mean, it's not like you have much of a choice."

"I guess not." Santana said with a sigh. "You two are in. Do you need anybody else, or anything else?"

Madison stuck out her hand to shake Santana's, and shook her head with a smile. "Nope, Mason and I work best when it's just the two of us. We will also need your credit card, for supplies, and the key of the place where we're doing the cooking. What's the budget?"

Santana didn't hesitate. "It's got a limit of twenty grand, but I doubt you'll need that much. Go crazy. Within reason, of course. I'll get the info about the place from Mercedes."

"Sounds good to us."

"And if you really manage to pull it off, I'll give you twenty shows in four months, and ten tickets to use whenever you want."

"Seriously?!"

The twins nearly jumped up in excitement, and each shook Santana's hand again. She took out her wallet, pulling out a heavy, black credit card, and pointed it at each of them seriously.

"I'm counting on you two. Don't screw this up."

They seemed to salute in unison, and Santana nearly did a double take.

"You can count on us boss!"

They took the card, and scuttled off, leaving Rachel and Santana in the hallway.

Santana sighed again. "Okay, now I've just got to explain why they're not here to the rest of the tech staff."

"Oh, I'm sure it'll be alright. We've learned a valuable lesson here, Santana: never be without a Plan B!"

Santana smiled in spite of herself, putting an arm around Rachel's shoulder.

"Yeah, dwarf, tell me about it."

\

Brittany had to admit that the abrupt change in venue for Santana Lopez's inaugural Host Dinner left her wondering about how good of an event this was going to be. But once she had gotten out of her Uber and in front of the building that housed the place, she was quickly gaining confidence.

The place was _swanky._

She had ridden with Tina, since they had come from 30 Rock, and could hear a gasp from the other woman as they stepped onto the curb. She pulled down her skirt, and rearranged her jacket, smoothing out the sides.

"You really should stop fussing with that, you look awesome. I mean, literal smoke stack. If I were Santana Lopez, I would start humping you the moment you came through the door." Tina offered.

Brittany ducked her head to hide the flash of color that flooded her cheeks, closing the car door behind Tina, and offering her arm. While Tina had chosen the tallest heels in her closet, Brittany had opted for the most contour hugging dress she had, paired with a cute half jacket and bright pink Vans. Her hair was curled, and piled in a messy bun on her head. She didn't want to sound too full of herself, but she agreed with Tina. And, honestly, she'd dressed that way on purpose. She wasn't necessarily _trying_ to seduce Santana Lopez, but if she saw her and just happened to fall in love, all the better. It would just end up being a happy coincidence.

She approached the door with Tina on her arm, and smiled at the doorman who opened it wide.

"Wow, how'd you know we weren't just some randos from the street." Brittany said jokingly.

"Ms. Lopez gave us a detailed list of who to look out for, Ms. Pierce. Straight ahead to the elevator, and up to the penthouse. You'll know where to go from there."

Brittany smiled and waved goodbye, leading Tina through the halls.

"The penthouse, holy cow, Brit, this chick is _loaded_." Tina said.

"I definitely don't remember this from any of her interviews. I thought she still lived in the Bronx."

"I guess she's moving on up like the Jeffersons."

They both laughed at that, but once they'd stepped out of the elevator to the penthouse, there really wasn't else they found very funny. Whatever they were expecting, this wasn't it. The place was less like an apartment, and more like a castle. Brittany didn't think she'd ever seen so big a condo in all of New York City. Relaxing music wafted down from the built in sound system, and before they could even blink, there was a class of champagne in their hands. A rather pale young man with strikingly black hair smiled at them, and led them to another room.

"Welcome, Ms. Pierce, and Ms. Cohen-Chang. Ms. Lopez will be with you in just a minute, if you'll have a seat in the drawing room."

"Drawing room?" Tina mouthed to Brittany, behind the young man's back.

Brittany just shrugged, and took a seat on one of the luxurious chairs, sitting primly on the edge.

The man left, and it was just the two of them, so Tina crossed the room, looking closely at the fish tank that seemed to take up most of the space.

"This is incredible. This tank has got to be like two stories high."

Brittany only mumbled in reply. Her mind was already a few miles away, honestly. The invitation had said arrive at eight o'clock, but she had been worried about arriving on time, so she'd made Tina leave early, and now it was only seven forty-five, and they were the only ones there, and she hated it. If there was one thing Brittany couldn't stand is when you're trying to put the finishing touches on an event, and someone shows up early. It was like she was trying to come off as a gigantic dork to Santana.

She looked around the room, and while she had to admit there was definitely an air of impressiveness to it all, it really didn't strike her as Santana Lopez. They'd never met, and Brittany never claimed to have any special insight into the woman, but she'd read more than enough interviews to have a distinct feeling of her personality, and the garish displays of wealth that were now surrounding her didn't feel very authentic.

A few moments later, voices from the hallway came towards her, and she stood quickly to greet them.

"If you'll just wait here, Ms. Lopez will be with you in a moment."

The man from before led her castmates Alex and Mickey into the room, and Brittany gave them a quick hug before following him out into the hallway.

"Hey, sorry, I didn't catch your name."

He turned and smiled. "Ah, that was my fault. I'm Mason, I work on Santana- I mean, Ms. Lopez's show. I'm just helping out tonight."

"That's sweet of you. I was just wondering if you could point me in the direction of the little girl's room."

"Sure. It's right around the corner, first door on the left. I'll show you." He went to walk down the hall, but the ding of the elevator indicated more visitors. "Sorry, do you think you can find it? I'm supposed to be showing people in."

"No problem. I'm sure I can get there. Thanks!"

Mason scurried off and Brittany made her way down the hall. To be honest, she wasn't at all sure that she could find the bathroom. She had a terrible sense of direction, and the place was huge after all. She turned around the corner that she was pretty sure Mason had indicated, and looked around carefully. There were several doors, and Brittany started opening them all. One seemed like a weird dining room, and she couldn't resist going around to take a peek. There were several golden records hanging from the walls, and she just had to take a closer look.

She walked towards the records and frowned when she got up close. Instead of mentioning Santana Lopez and all the fantastic work she'd done on _Billie_ the records seemed to be for someone named Sugar Motta. Brittany's frowned deeper. She knew that name, but she couldn't remember where. She went to reach for her phone, but cursed to herself remembering that she'd left it on the table beside the couch. She began walking, noting the titles on all of the records. Some of them she'd actually heard of before, they were dance and party songs that got a lot of radio play. But who was Sugar Motta to Santana Lopez? Maybe they lived together? Santana didn't seem like the kind of person who needed a roommate.

Brittany shook herself. The thought had made her a little sad, and she'd had no right to be. She never even met Santana before to start being jealous of her hypothetical girlfriend. Suddenly, a commotion from a nearby door caught her attention. She walked slowly to the door, pushing it gently open a crack. Inside, a woman who looked almost exactly like Mason was putting the finishing touches on a plate. Beside her was a figure that Brittany would have known anywhere.

It was Santana Lopez.

She was standing near the plates, practically wringing the towel she held in her hands to shreds. Brittany smiled softly. At least she felt a little bit better knowing that Santana was as nervous as she was. She tuned in to what they were saying.

"Do you think this is enough, Madison? I can run to the shop down the street and see if they have any finger food or something."

Madison laughed as she ladled some sauce onto one of the plates. "Nah, I think we're good. I think you should go out there and meet with your guests, have a glass of wine or something. Relax. We've got it."

"Relax? Yeah, I don't think so. I'm practically freaking out. Mercedes said she was going to be here after the show was over, and I'm getting the feeling that she's going to be late. Plus, Sugar's fish tank is giving me the creeps. I couldn't relax if I wanted to."

"You've gotta do something, because you pacing back in the kitchen is not helping me finish any of this any faster."

"Fine." There was a bit of a whine in Santana's voice, and Brittany smiled at the sound of it. "I'm going to go splash some cold water on my face, re-apply my foundation, and go kick some ass."

"There you go! You've got it now. Break a leg."

Brittany was happy Santana had found her confidence, but before she could make any significant decisions about her next move, she realized that Santana was marching towards her with confidence. She only had time to take one step back before her shoes snagged on the ornate Persian rug, and she tumbled ass over tea kettle to the floor.

"Oh my god, Brittany!" Santana yelled, rushing forward.

Brittany was fine, of course, one of the first things she'd learned when she'd studied dance was how to fall, but the familiarity with which Santana had said her name unsteadied her for a moment.

She stood up quickly sticking out her hand. "Santana Lopez, I presume?"

Santana's smile was wide and tight, and Brittany was worried that she'd screwed up more than she thought, but Santana finally took her head, and shook it delicately.

"Hi, yes, hello. I'm Santana Lopez, and you're Brittany Pierce, right? I, uh, I recognized you from the show. From Saturday Night Live, I mean, of course. Though, I'm sure you've been on other shows too."

Santana felt the alarm rising in her chest more and more as she pumped Brittany's hand. At first she'd been startled. A little weirdness was fine when one was startled. But she felt herself babbling on and on, and she could feel her good first impression slipping away. Thankfully, Brittany disengaged her hand, and gestured towards the wall.

"I was just looking for the bathroom, and I noticed all these gold records. These are amazing!"

Grateful for the change in subject, Santana nodded happily in agreement.

"Yeah, they're Sugar's. Sugar Motta. She's my friend Mercedes' friend. Well, they're not really friends, they just know each other. Sugar produced Mercedes last album."

"Obviously!" Brittany said, smacking her hand to her forehead. " _That's_ where I know the name Sugar Motta! I just got Mercedes' last album, and I was going over the production team. Not that I normally do that. I mean, I do normally do that because I'm into, like, knowing who all came together to make an album. Cause it's really a team effort, you know?"

Brittany wished it were possible to take words that had already been spoken and stuff them back into her mouth. Her normal ability to speak casually with everyone (something that had come in really handy when Hillary Clinton had appeared on the show), seemed to be failing her at the moment, and she wasn't sure why. It probably had something to do with the slinky strapless dress that Santana was wearing. One that accentuated all of her best qualities and had a slit nearly up to her hip. Her hand had been straightened, and was curled off to one side, looping into the nape of her neck. Brittany felt her throat become dry all of a sudden, and she cleared it, desperate for something else to talk about.

She noted a flashing light out in the hallway, and pointed with purpose. "Hey, what's that?" She grabbed Santana arm, and hurried out into the hall, towards the pulsating lights that were glinting off of a nearby wall.

For her part, Santana was just happy to be involved, and getting dragged around by one of her favorite (and let's be honest, most attractive) SNL castmates was a dream come true. Santana was just figuring out Sugar's place, herself, so their destination was as much a surprise to her as it was Brittany.

They stepped through the partially open door, and seemed to go to another world.

"It's a karaoke room!" Brittany said in awe, doing a quick, graceful turn to take it all in. She spotted a console and ran over, pushing a few buttons before Santana had even fully taken it what was happening. "Oh my god, they have so many songs, we have got to do some!"

Santana hesitated. On one hand, she was already having more fun than she'd been having all night. The stress of throwing this party reminded her why she didn't do it, and her idea of of a nice night out was taking a six pack of wine coolers to Mercedes' place and watching Drag Race until they passed out on the couch. On the other hand, Mason had ducked in a little while ago and told her the guests were arriving in droves. She had a responsibility to meet them, didn't she?

As if reading her mind, Brittany reached out a microphone to her, and smiled invitingly. "Don't worry, we'll do one song, and then head out. Just one, I promise."

There was a strange touch of familiarity in her voice, though Brittany tried to hide it. It warmed Santana, and she found herself nodding and smiling before even giving it a second thought. She took the microphone, gripping it in her hand tightly. She felt as nervous as she'd been on opening night of her first high school performance. Like there was so much riding on this, and so much to lose, but also so much to gain. She was on the precipice of a great moment here, she could feel it, if only she could figure out the exact best way to land.

"I've found the perfect song, too!" Brittany said, snapping Santana back to reality.

The music started, and Santana could tear her eyes away from the way that Brittany moved.

 _Oh don't you dare look back_

 _Just keep your eyes on me_

 _I said you're holding back_

 _She said shut up and dance with me_

Her voice started strong, and Santana smiled. She loved this song. She was finally able to pull herself out of the trance that she'd been in, and she did a little twirl herself, joining Brittany on the next lines.

 _This woman is my destiny_

 _She said oh oh oh_

 _Shut up and dance with me_

Brittany reached out her hand, and Santana took it, dancing and swaying along with the music.


End file.
